A Good Year For The Roses
by Expecting Rain
Summary: Sequel to "Forever And Ever And Ever." When Mary and Colin return to Misselthwaite Manor, Mary is swept into the most eventful summer of her life, involving weddings, startling news, a dangerous illness, and her own tangled feelings.
1. Man And Wife

**A/N: **Hello, I'm back! This is the not-so-long-awaited sequel to "Forever And Ever And Ever," (it's been less than a month) and while it's probably not necessary to read "Forever And Ever And Ever" before reading this, please feel free to do so (and review!). This story is mostly done and in the process of revision, so updates should be fairly frequent. Well, I guess that's all, except the disclaimer (I don't own _The Secret Garden_ in any way, shape or form, unless you count my copies of the book and movie) and to remind you to PLEASE REVIEW!!

**A Good Year For The Roses**

_As you turn to walk away_

_As the door behind you closes_

_The only thing I have to say_

_It's been a good year for the roses_

_-"Good Year For The Roses," Elvis Costello_

**Chapter One: Man And Wife**

The bride was beautiful in a simple yet elegant white dress that drew attention to her face, which shone with happiness as she gazed into the groom's eyes and murmured, "I do."

Mary Lennox's eyes filled with tears as the groom, Richard Blakely, slipped the ring on the finger of his bride and Mary's best friend, Cecelia Greenwood, soon to be Cecelia Blakely. Cece was positively aglow, and Mary was overjoyed for her friend: Cece had found her true love, a young, handsome man who was also very kind, intelligent, rich, and from a good family. Not only that, but he was completely infatuated with Cecelia, and she with him. It was a match made in Heaven.

Mary struggled to keep away the jealousy that she was sure plagued the other four bridesmaids. The six girls had spent the last five years together at Bradford's Academy for Young Women and were all of marriageable age, but Cecelia was the first to be married and had undoubtedly made the best match. All the girls had brought beaux (Mary had met them the day before), except for Mary herself – well, unless she counted Colin, and most of the girls did. Even Cece didn't believe that friendship was the only bond between Mary and Colin. "_You_ might think so," Cece had pointed out, "but I'm sure _he _doesn't."

Mary had been tempted to show all her contrariness at the other girls' knowing looks, but it was Cece's wedding day and she was determined not to spoil it.

"I now pronounce you man and wife."

Mary couldn't help but smile as she watched Richard kiss Cecelia; it was not a chaste peck on the lips, as was expected, but a forceful, passionate kiss that indicated that the couple had had lots of practice.

Mary heard a few giggles from the bridesmaids behind her. Richard's brother and best man, Alexander, cleared his throat pointedly. Richard released Cecelia, and the blushing, beaming newlyweds made their way out of the church.

Colin appeared at Mary's arm as the congregation began to mingle and offered her his handkerchief. "You'd think it was your daughter getting married," he teased.

Mary swatted him, smiling. "She's my best friend, practically the same thing."

Colin raised his eyebrows. "Well, it's clear y_ou're_ an orphan," he said.

Mary laughed. "Maybe not quite the same thing," she amended. "Cece's more like my sister than anything, I suppose. She looks so happy, doesn't she?"

Colin smiled slightly. "Yes," he said briefly before changing the subject. "Let's make our way back to the house. I'm sure Richard and Cecelia are anxious to start the reception." He grinned impishly. "After all, the sooner they get started, the sooner they get to leave."

"You're terrible!" Mary said, laughing and blushing. "But you're right. Let's go."

The reception was at the Blakely mansion, an old, ornate manor house even larger than Misselthwaite - but not nearly as nice, Mary was sure, and its gardens surely couldn't compare.

Dinner was first, and Mary and Colin soon found their place cards at a table with some of the other bridesmaids, groomsmen, and their dates. Mary was startled to see that Colin's place card read "Lord Craven."

Colin's smile faded as he read the title. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it," he murmured to Mary as they sat down. She squeezed his hand briefly under the table before turning her attention to Annabelle Taylor, who was anxious to show off her escort.

It was a very pleasant evening. All the guests were in high spirits, thanks to the infectious happiness of the newly married couple, as well as an abundance of champagne. The younger members of the party were especially enthused. The young men spoke of the newlyweds with increasing innuendo and teased the young women, to their delight. The call for dancing came just as the table's enthusiasm was reaching a peak, but Colin turned away from Emily Thompson, who was flirting outrageously with him, to whisper in Mary's ear.

"I want the first and last dances. My payment for coming along."

Mary giggled as she took Colin's arm. "You know you're having fun," she protested as they made their way to the ballroom.

Colin smiled but waited until the music began to make his reply.

"Now I am," he said as he and Mary swirled across the dance floor.

Mary loved to dance, and she happily partnered the groomsmen; her friends' dates; the half-drunk, teasing grandfathers; and once, Richard. Although Colin also danced with many of the guests, he kept insinuating his way back to Mary's side. Not that Mary minded; in fact, she rather enjoyed it. Colin was a splendid dancer.

All too soon (though it was many hours later) the band leader announced the closing song, and Mary found herself back in Colin's arms for a slow waltz.

"You had fun, admit it," Mary teased as they danced their way around the ballroom.

"I did," Colin agreed without hesitation. He smiled shyly at Mary. "You look beautiful; did I tell you that?"

Mary laughed self-consciously and brushed a lock of loose hair out of her face. "Oh, by now I'm a mess. But all the girls have been talking about how handsome you are; even Eliza is flirting, and she never flirts! You could have your pick of them, I'm sure."

"I don't want my pick of them," Colin said seriously, and Mary fell silent as they danced. Something was different about Colin: he had been over-attentive all night, and he had not yet closed the distance that had appeared between them at Misselthwaite a few months ago. She wasn't sure whether it stemmed from the emotional scene after Uncle Archie's funeral – she had found Colin crying in the library and had sung him to sleep – or from something else entirely, but it confused her. It wasn't that Colin wasn't nice to her, or even open – he joked and teased as he always did – but there was definitely something different about him.

The dance ended, and Mary and Colin separated and began to make their goodbyes to the other guests. The Blakely's mansion was in Leicester, nearly midway between London and Misselthwaite. Mary and Colin planned to travel through the night and arrive at Misselthwaite in the morning. Despite the late hour, they did not plan to take a chaperone – they were both orphans, after all, and they intended to exercise their independence.

Colin had hired a carriage from London, which had also brought them to the wedding (their luggage had been sent ahead a few days before). The driver had passed the hours of the wedding and the reception with other servants in the same situation.

It was raining heavily, Mary realized as she and Colin moved with other guests toward the open front doors. She hadn't noticed inside, but it was a positive downpour. She hoped it wouldn't delay their arrival at Misselthwaite.

Colin had evidently spotted the carriage; he took Mary's hand and pulled her out of the protective enclosure of the doorway to run across the driveway. He paused to help her into the carriage before clambering in himself. Mary couldn't help but laugh: Colin was completely drenched and looked half-drowned, though she knew she could hardly look any better.

Colin grimaced at her as he brushed at his clothes, attempting to shake off some of the water.

"Good luck," Mary advised him as she took a more proactive path and began to look for blankets.

The carriage jerked; Mary stumbled and fell half on top of Colin.

"Must be a loose stone or something," he commented, and Mary nodded and made to stand up. However, the carriage lurched again and swerved to the side before quickly gathering speed. Soon they were racing along at a breakneck pace; Mary and Colin stared at each other, wide-eyed. Something was very wrong.


	2. The Journey to Misselthwaite Manor

_Thanks to reviewers (EstellaB, thanks for the suggestion – I knew 'dates' wasn't the right word but couldn't think of what was; I went back and changed it). Here's the next chapter – please review & tell me what you think! _

**Forever And Ever And Ever**

**Chapter Two: The Journey to Misselthwaite Manor**

As their carriage hurtled along, Mary and Colin were thrown from side to side against the carriage walls. Mary was terrified that a door would come open and they would fly out, but Colin seemed to be hoping for the exact same thing. He was fumbling at the door as often as he could.

"What are you doing?" Mary yelled over the sound of rattling wheels.

Colin didn't answer. Instead he pushed open the window and leaned out as far as he dared; just then, the carriage jerked to the other side, sending Mary hurtling against the other wall. Colin held on, gripping tight to the sides of the window, and Mary heard him shout,

"What the hell is going on out there? Stop this carriage at once!"

There was on response except the sound of the roaring wind and the rattling wheels. The carriage tilted dangerously to one side.

"Sit down, Colin!" Mary screamed. The carriage jerked again, and Colin finally saw sense. He pulled his head back into the cabin - and just in time too. There was a tremendous jolt, a hideous scream, and then the world tilted dangerously to one side and Mary was falling.

She landed with a painful thump hard against the carriage wall. Once her head stopped spinning, she realized that she was lucky that the window glass hadn't broken. She was well enough, only bruised and out of breath and being crushed by something soft and heavy…

"Colin!" Mary gasped. "Are you all right?"

Colin groaned and carefully lifted himself up off of Mary. He sat on his knees, his hands on his head.

"You're bleeding!" Mary said. Blood was fairly gushing from the side of Colin's head; he touched the wound gingerly.

"M'fine," he mumbled, fishing in his pocket for a handkerchief. He still looked significantly dazed. "You?"

"I'm all right," Mary said, getting to her feet. It was very strange: the seats were on the wall and the door was directly above her head. She stood on her tiptoes; her fingers just brushed the door handle.

"Hey!" she yelled. "We're in here!"

"S'no good," Colin said, carefully picking himself up off the ground. He kept one hand pressed to the handkerchief against his head; blood was already seeping through. He would need a proper bandage, especially if the driver couldn't help them.

Mary felt for a pocket, but there was none in her pink bridesmaid dress. Sighing inwardly, she reached behind herself and untied the bow before carefully tearing off the sash. A shame – she had really liked the dress.

"Here," she said, stepping closer to Colin. "We'll use this."

She couldn't wrap the bandage from her height (nearly a foot shorter than Colin), so he obediently knelt and let her wrap the pink silk around his head. It was thin, but better than nothing. Mary had the urge to tie a bow, but decided to spare Colin the extra embarrassment.

Colin stood up. He looked ridiculous even without the bow.

"Are you all right?" Mary asked again, concerned. There was an awful lot of blood, and some had even gotten on her dress.

"I'm fine," Colin said, more coherently this time. "Just a scrape; head wounds bleed a lot. Now, let's get out of here."

Mary smiled. That was the Colin she knew! He could reach the door easily without standing on tiptoe, and within a few seconds had it unlatched and opened.

Mary cried out in dismay as a torrent of rain entered the cabin, almost immediately soaking her thin dress. The wind howled against the opening of the carriage.

"I'll get out first and help you," Colin said, and jumped. He caught the sides of the door easily, and Mary watched as he scrambled out of the carriage, using his arms and legs like a monkey.

A few seconds after his feet disappeared, his face reappeared over the doorway. "Jump when I say, and I'll pull you up," he instructed, lowering his arms into the carriage. "All right – now!"

Mary jumped and grabbed Colin's hands. She half-expected to simply drag him back in, but Colin held tight and Mary managed to scramble to the top – actually, side – of the carriage.

It seemed to be raining even harder outside the carriage, and the wind was blowing fiercely. Mary was already starting to shiver, and Colin's lips were blue.

"Come on!" he shouted over the storm, and slid off the carriage to the ground below. Mary scooted to the edge of the cabin, and Colin caught her on her descent.

"Let's see what's wrong with the driver," Colin shouted. Mary nodded and followed him with some trepidation. Because of the wind and rain, at first Mary didn't notice anything unusual. Then she saw a figure bent over the struggling horse. She felt a surge of pity for the poor animal, and realized the source of the unearthly scream. It must be in terrible pain.

Colin cleared the distance to the driver in a few steps, grabbed his shoulders, and pulled him off the ground.

"What the hell were you doing?" Mary heard Colin shout as she drew nearer, wanting to catch every word. "We could have been killed!"

The man mumbled something unintelligible. "You're drunk," Colin spat, and threw the man down in disgust. The driver scooted away, seemingly terrified of Colin. It would have been funny if not for the circumstances.

"I have your name and your employer," Colin stated firmly. "And I will see you punished for this, Jonathan Finley. For now stay with your horse; try to help it. My cousin and I will go on to the nearest town and fetch help."

With that, he turned his back on the sideways carriage and started on down the road, through the wind and driving rain.

"Come on, Mary!" he called loudly.

Mary hurried to catch up. She was hugging herself against the cold; her teeth were chattering already. And she had no idea how far it was to the nearest village.

Thunder boomed in the background. Colin put a shaking arm around Mary and drew her close to him as they walked. Apart from that he did not seem to acknowledge her; he was cursing violently under his breath, and his voice was shaking – whether from the cold or from suppressed anger Mary could not tell, but she was grateful for his closeness.

Within a few minutes Mary's arms and legs had gone numb, and soon she and Colin were stumbling against each other, half-frozen and half-blind from the driving rain. As time went on, Mary's legs flared with imagined heat. She could feel Colin shaking violently against her, though he made no sound. It was one of the worst storms she'd ever seen, let alone been outside in; she found her thoughts straying to the numerous fireplaces at Bradford's.

Finally, the rain began to lessen, and Mary could see in the distance a few buildings grouped together. If not quite a town, it was at least a village, and she was sure that the people there would help them. She nudged Colin and pointed to it, but he only nodded, half-aware, and continued trudging on.

Mary quickened her pace, dragging Colin along with her, and hurried to the door of the closest house. She pounded on the door until, several minutes later, it was opened by an irritated middle-aged man in his nightclothes.

"Please," Mary gasped, shivering. "Our carriage tipped over – our driver's back there, and the horse – we need help – we can pay."

At the last, the man stood aside and beckoned them in.

"What is it, Benjamin?"

Mary noticed a plump woman, probably in her forties, standing in the corner of the room by a large, empty fireplace. Oh, for a fire….

The man grunted, and Mary repeated her story. The woman's mouth made an "O" and she hurried away without a word. She reappeared a few seconds later with warm blankets, which she draped around Colin and Mary while instructing her husband,

"Now, Benjamin, build us a nice big fire, and I'll look after these two young things. You gather a few men and go see to their carriage – I assume it's on the main road?" Mary nodded.

"But the rain," the man – Benjamin – protested.

"Nonsense, you'll be fine, it's stopping already," the woman said. "Besides, you'll be riding; you won't be out long – not like these poor dears. Now hurry up and get a fire started and I'll put the kettle on. You two just rest here," she instructed Mary and Colin, gesturing to a molding sofa.

Mary sank gratefully onto the faded cushions and pulled Colin next to her. She leaned against him, hoping that their frozen bodies could somehow warm each other, but it didn't much help. It didn't matter, though; in less than five minutes, a fire was roaring in the fireplace and Mary and Colin were dressed in dry, albeit overlarge, clothes, with cups of steaming tea in their hands.

They were safe, and with some luck so were the horse and the irresponsible carriage driver, but how were they going to get to Misselthwaite?


	3. Home Again

_A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I spent a week with my grandfather, and I'd forgotten that he doesn't have the Internet. The next chapter will be up sooner, I promise!_

**A Good Year For the Roses**

**Chapter Three: Home Again**

Mary awoke in a strange bed in a strange room, wearing clothes that she didn't recognize. It was over a minute before she realized where she was and why she was there – then she got out of bed so fast she nearly fell over. She straightened her hair and clothes as best as she could, as there was no mirror in the small room, and opened the door. She came into the sitting room, which was empty, but she could hear muffled voices nearby.

Mary noticed a door nearly hidden in a dark corner of the room and went over to it. The voices were louder, and she could distinctly hear Colin, as well as the woman who'd helped them the night before.

"I really can't thank you enough," Colin was saying. "Without your help I'm sure my sister and I would both have frozen to death."

Mary paused, her hand inches from the doorknob. His sister?It took a moment for her to realize why Colin had lied: two young people traveling alone together in the middle of the night would have to be siblings, especially if they were to be talked about, which after last night's debacle, they certainly were. Well, this would be interesting – despite their shared relations, Mary and Colin looked nothing alike and lately Colin had been acting more like a suitor than a brother.

"Oh, it's no trouble, we were pleased to help," the woman chirped, sounding flustered. Mary smiled to herself; Colin seemed to have that effect on women of all ages and classes.

"Your sister mentioned compensation," a male voice interjected. It must be the man who had answered the door. Mary found herself wondering how on earth he persuaded his wife, who had proved herself kind and generous, to marry him.

"Yes, of course," Colin said smoothly. "We have only pocket change on us at the moment – I'm afraid all our belongings were sent on ahead – but we will of course send a reward along when we reach home. It should be no more than a day before you receive it, weather permitting."

"And where did you say your home was?" the man asked suspiciously.

If the brother-sister ruse was to keep up, now was the time to cause a distraction. Mary turned the doorknob and stepped into a small kitchen.

"Good morning," she said pleasantly, smiling at the room in general.

"Oh, good morning, miss," the woman said. "I hope you slept well?"

"Very," Mary said politely. "I'm grateful for the use of your bed – you really oughtn't to have given it up."

The man muttered something that sounded like "I know," but the woman spoke louder, quickly overpowering him.

"Oh, it was no trouble, really. We were glad to help, miss."

"Well, you have our thanks," Mary said, then glanced at Colin. She noticed for the first time that his head was unbandaged. He must have been telling the truth about it being "only a scrape."

"We must be hurrying on though, I'm afraid," Mary continued. "We were expected last night. Is there a carriage here we can rent?"

"I've taken care of it, Mary," Colin cut in. "A man will drive us as soon as you're ready."

"Of course," Mary said, looking around. "Is my dress dry?"

"It is, miss, but…well, I'm sorry, but it's quite a mess," the woman said nervously. She picked up a pink bundle from the kitchen table and unfolded it.

She was right: the dress was perfectly ruined. It was wrinkled hopelessly from the rain, stray threads dangled from where the sash had been, and small red bloodstains splattered the skirt. It had been such a pretty dress, too.

"I'm sorry, miss," the woman said regretfully. "You'll have to wear my clothes, though I'm sure they're not nearly as fine as what you're used to."

Mary hurried to assure the woman that her clothes were perfectly adequate, and Colin snuck out of the room to call the driver. He returned just as Mary was refusing the woman's third offer of breakfast.

The "siblings" hastily made their thanks and goodbyes, and within a few minutes they were once again riding in a carriage on the way to Misselthwaite.

"Well, that was quite an adventure," Colin remarked as the village faded out of sight.

"I know," Mary said. "I don't want to know what Mrs. Medlock will say when she hears of it."

"If she asks, we drove with an uncle of Cecelia's until this morning," Colin says, and sneezed.

"Bless you," Mary remarked, then continued, "You're right, we shouldn't cause more trouble than we have to. Mrs. Medlock does have a tendency to overreact."

"She does, doesn't she," Colin agreed. "Still, it'll be good to see her again, meddlesome old woman that she is."

"And Misselthwaite. I can't wait to be home again," Mary added.

"And Misselthwaite," Colin agreed.

They planned to stay in Misselthwaite all summer, until Colin left for Cambridge in the autumn and Mary – well she wasn't sure yet, but she was considering accepting Emily Thompson's invitation to stay with her in London. She had over two months to decide; it was mid-June. It would be the longest time either she or Colin had stayed at Misselthwaite since they both left for their respective boarding schools five years ago.

Misselthwaite would take some getting used to, but the drastic change from London society wasn't what worried Mary most. There were two other things weighing heavily on her mind.

The first was that Misselthwaite would doubtless feel empty and lonesome without Uncle Archie, who had died that spring. Neither Colin nor Mary had yet recovered from the loss – she wasn't sure they ever would – and there would certainly be emotional repercussions. And after what happened last spring in the library, Mary wasn't sure how open Colin would be with her.

The second, of course, was Dickon.

Last spring, in the wake of Uncle Archie's sudden death, Mary had reconnected with Dickon Sowerby, the head gardener at Misselthwaite and a childhood friend, and fallen completely in love with him.

Their relationship had barely existed, consisting only of kind words and shared moments in their old Secret Garden, and culminating in a single kiss. Saying goodbye to Dickon – "letting him go," as 'Lizabeth Ellen, Mary's maid and Dickon's sister, had said – had been the hardest thing Mary had ever done. She still wasn't sure she had made the right decision, though, short of barricading themselves in the garden, she could think of no possible way for her and Dickon to live together happily.

But she knew she hadn't yet fallen out of love. Just the thought of seeing him again made Mary's heart beat faster and her cheeks flush, so that Colin asked her if she was certain she was all right.

"Oh, I'm fine," Mary said, flustered. "I was just thinking about seeing the Secret Garden again. It's been years since I've seen it in the summer."

Talk turned to the garden, and to their shared childhood, and though Dickon's name was mentioned more than once, Colin was too caught up in his own reminiscence to notice Mary's discomfort.

They reached Misselthwaite Manor around midday, and after receiving a scolding from Mrs. Medlock over "the state of them," Mary went to change into her own clothes – their luggage had arrived that morning, and the clothes she was wearing were much too big for her. Mary was looking forward to seeing 'Lizabeth Ellen again, and she wasn't disappointed – the girl was already in Mary's room, dusting.

"'Lizabeth Ellen!" Mary called happily, but she was startled to see the look on the maid's face when she turned to face Mary.

"What's wrong?" Mary asked anxiously. Something terrible must have happened to make the normally cheerful girl look so concerned.

'Lizabeth Ellen didn't disappoint. "Miss Lennox," she said determinedly. "I've got to tell thee something. Dickon's going to be married."


	4. An Incident in the Gardens

**A Good Year For the Roses**

**Chapter Four: An Incident in the Gardens**

Mary had never fainted before, a fact she rather prided herself on, but now she came very close. Her legs were trembling and her heart was beating double-time, and she felt as if she had been punched in the stomach by a professional boxer.

"What?" she heard herself say in a high, shaking voice. "Did you say that Dickon's engaged?"

"Yes, Miss Lennox," 'Lizabeth Ellen said seriously. "He's going to get married at the end of August."

Mary swayed and sat down on her bed. "Why?" she asked stupidly.

"He's in love, Miss Lennox," 'Lizabeth Ellen said miserably. "He started courting her just after you left, and he fell in love. I'm sorry, miss."

"I – that's quite all right, 'Lizabeth Ellen – thank you for telling me," Mary said dazedly. She wondered if she might be in shock.

"What's her name?" Mary asked.

"Rose Connelly," said 'Lizabeth Ellen.

Rose! Mary seethed. _Of_ _course_ she would have a name like Rose. _Of course. _Why would Dickon spend time pining for Miss Mary Lennox when he could marry – _marry – _Rose Connelly. She was probably from the moor.

"Oh, please don't be angry, Miss Lennox," 'Lizabeth Ellen said anxiously. "He didn't do it to hurt thee. It just…well, it just happened."

Mary fell backwards on her bed and stared at the ceiling. _Of course_ this would happen….she never should have let him go.

"Miss Mary?" 'Lizabeth Ellen said tentatively, but before Mary could answer, there was a loud knock at the door.

"Come on, Mary, what's taking you so long?" Colin shouted. "I got the new cook to pack us a basket. Let's eat in the garden!"

"Yes, all right," Mary called back. "I'm nearly ready!" She stood up and began to change her clothes.

"Miss Lennox?" 'Lizabeth Ellen ventured. "Is tha all right?"

"I'm fine," Mary said, her voice muffled by the blue dress she was pulling over her head. "Thank you for telling me, Elizabeth."

The maid looked confused at being called her proper name, but said, "You're welcome, Miss Lennox. If there's anything I can do for thee, just let me know."

Mary felt a surge of gratitude for 'Lizabeth Ellen. Really, she didn't deserve such a friend. "I will. Thank you," Mary said genuinely before opening the door to join Colin.

He was standing, waiting, fiddling with the picnic basket he held. He looked up immediately and Mary forced a smile. Colin looked about ten again: his pale face was flushed with excitement, his remarkable eyes fairly danced with light, and he was bouncing impatiently from one foot to the other.

"Come _on_, Mary," he urged.

Mary's smile became more real as she followed Colin out of the house. His excitement was infectious, and she would have been looking forward to seeing the Secret Garden again, if she hadn't been certain that Dickon would be there too.

As a matter of fact, Dickon was not in the Secret Garden; he was kneeling in the flowerbeds lining the pathway leading to it. Mary would have happily passed him by, but Colin stopped.

"I say! Is that you, Dickon Sowerby?"

Dickon stood and turned to face them somewhat reluctantly. "Aye, 'tis I, Lord Craven."

Colin made a face. "Dickon, don't call me that! We're all friends here. Besides, Lord Craven i – was my father. Call me Colin. I insist."

"Yes, Mr. Colin," Dickon said.

Colin laughed. "I suppose that will have to do. You never would call us by our Christian names, would you? Well, how have you been, Dickon? It's been years!"

"Congratulations on your engagement," Mary said coldly.

Dickon's eyes darted to her. He looked as if he wanted to run. "Thank'ee, Miss Ma – Miss Lennox," he hastily amended.

Colin looked at Mary expectantly, as if expecting her to correct Dickon's use of her surname. Well, if he was waiting for that he could wait forever, Mary thought bitterly. Dickon had made his choice, and he would not be calling her "Mary" any time soon.

Colin shrugged and looked back to Dickon. "We were just going to the garden to eat lunch. I'd be pleased if you'd join us. We have a lot to catch up on, it seems."

Dickon blanched. "No, Mr. Craven, I'd best not, I've work to be doing," he said quickly, then without saying goodbye, picked up his gardening bag and almost ran in the opposite direction.

Colin watched Dickon's retreat with a faint crease between his eyebrows. "Well, that was disappointing," he said once Dickon was out of sight.

"What was?" Mary asked.

"Well, he was such a kind, polite boy. I'd expected him to turn out better than that," Colin said.

Mary bristled. She might be terribly angry at Dickon, but she wasn't about to stand here and listen to Colin insult him.

"He's turned out a sight better than you," Mary said angrily. "What right do you have to judge him? You don't know him!"

Colin stared at her. "Mary, I was friends with Dickon, too, remember?"

"No you weren't!" Mary snapped. "You never liked him. You were always jealous of him. _A common cottage boy off the moor_, you called him!"

"That was before I knew him!" Colin said. "Once I met him, I thought differently. Without Dickon, I wouldn't be able to walk, Mary. I probably wouldn't even be alive right now."

"Well, you have a funny way of showing your gratitude," Mary said acidly.

Colin stared. "Mary, I don't know what you're going on about. You have to admit that Dickon wasn't acting like the Dickon we knew growing up."

"You don't know him," Mary repeated.

"Well, now I don't," Colin agreed, then paused, and studied Mary carefully. "But you do, don't you," he said quietly. "You saw him again this spring, didn't you." It wasn't a question. "That's where you disappeared to the day after the funeral. That's where you snuck off to that morning. Why didn't you tell me?"

Mary opened her mouth, unsure of how to answer, but she didn't need to.

Colin's hurt gaze hardened as he realized. "You were flirting with him, weren't you, Mary. That's why you sounded so upset about his engagement."

He looked away for a moment, and Mary had the feeling he was near tears. But when he looked back, his face was as if chiseled in stone, except for his eyes.

"A fine way to honor my father, Mary," Colin said in a carefully controlled voice. "He gave you everything – he took you in when no one else would. And this is how you repay him? By – by making love to the gardener?"

"Dickon's not just a gardener!" Mary shouted. "And we weren't _making love_!"

"I know he's not just a gardener," Colin snapped. "That's why it's so terrible. Because Dickon's our friend, and a good man. He doesn't deserve to be treated like that, Mary. That was a cruel, selfish thing to do. But I suppose by now I should have expected it of you."

"You nothing about it," Mary said, her voice shaking with suppressed rage. She turned on her heel and ran for the garden.

* * *

A quick note on terminology – "making love" had a much different meaning in earlier times. In Jane Austen and other novels from that time it seems to mean excessive flirting. The Internet couldn't help me here, but I'm assuming that it carried the same meaning (including a slight negative connotation) at the time of this story, which I'm in the early twentieth century, before World War I. So Colin doesn't think that Mary and Dickon made love in today's sense of the term, but he's definitely suspicious and angry about what went on. Please review and tell me what you thought of this chapter!


	5. Household Matters

**A Good Year For The Roses**

**Chapter Five: Household Matters**

Mary could hear Colin's footsteps thundering on the path behind her. The nerve of that boy! He wasn't supposed to _follow_ her!

Fueled by a burst of fury, Mary ran harder and made it to the ivy-covered wall before Colin. She yanked open the door and slammed it behind her, then leaned against it, panting.

A second later a blunt force hit the door and Mary stumbled forward and fell to her knees. When she looked up, Colin was standing just inside the doorway, staring at the rose-covered garden with wonder. He seemed to have completely forgotten about her.

Mary got up, walked over to Colin, and slapped him across the face.

"Ow!" Colin looked at Mary, jolted out of his reverie. "What was that for?"

"For being a complete beast," Mary said angrily.

Colin just looked at her. Mary flushed. Those gray eyes made her feel quite uncomfortable.

"Let's not fight in here," Colin said finally. "It feels more like a church than any I've ever been in."

Although her temper still persisted, Mary nodded. Colin turned away from her and began to walk around the garden, stopping to look more closely at various flowers and trees. An angry red mark was appearing on his cheek. He deserved it, Mary tried to convince herself. Beast.

Colin continued his slow, methodical walk around the garden. Mary thought he had forgotten her until he passed next to the tree under which Dickon had kissed her, and said, "Come on, Mary."

He sounded so tired, impatient even, that Mary's temper flared once more.

"No," she snapped. "I won't fight with you in here, but that doesn't mean I have to listen to you."

Colin's eyes bore into her. "Don't be ridiculous," he said.

Mary looked away. "Fine," she said flatly. "If I'm being ridiculous I won't bother you." She turned away and stalked out of the garden. At the doorway she glanced over her shoulder; Colin was facing away from her, staring at an old gray tree covered in roses and missing a branch.

* * *

Mary's anger grew with each step back to the manor. They were beasts, all of them – Colin, Dickon, even 'Lizabeth Ellen. They didn't know, they didn't understand – _she hadn't been playing!_ It had been the hardest decision she had ever had to make, calling it – whatever _it_ had been – off with Dickon.

She didn't know if she regretted it: she was still hopelessly in love with Dickon – one glance at his round face with its too-blue eyes and too-wide mouth had told her that – but he had forgotten her, he was getting married to someone else, a poor moor girl – Rose! If only she had some other name, something like Anna or Bridget or Lucy. Just hearing the name _Rose _– Dickon _marrying _Rose – made Mary feel messy and inferior, like a thistle next to a rosebush.

Mary was so concentrated on her inner rant that she nearly ran into Mrs. Medlock in the doorway.

"Eh!" the housekeeper squawked in indignation before hastily recovering herself. "Miss Lennox, I was just looking for thee. There's some matters that we must discuss, when you have a moment."

"Well, I have a moment now," Mary said, doing her best to compose herself. "What is it?"

Mrs. Medlock looked flustered. It seemed that she hadn't expected Mary to agree so quickly. "If you'll come with me, Miss Lennox, this may take a few minutes."

Curiosity piqued in spite of herself, Mary followed Mrs. Medlock into the main parlor – a dark, stuffy room that Mary had never liked. She much preferred the second-floor sitting room, as meeting places went, or else the library….but no matter. Mrs. Medlock was already perched on the edge of an ornate green armchair and was looking at Mary expectantly.

Mary sat across from the housekeeper in a slightly more inviting blue sofa. That proved to be a mistake: the cushions sunk so that Mary was half-crouched in mountains of scratchy material.

"Miss Lennox, I was wondering what your plans were for next year," Mrs. Medlock began. "I know you have finished your education; what do you plan to do next?"

Mary floundered for an instant – she wasn't quite sure herself what she planned to do next. "I may return to London, come autumn," she said. "One of my school friends has invited me to stay with her; she promised to introduce me to her society."

"And perhaps find you a suitable match?" Mrs. Medlock prompted. Mary shrugged, then withered under Medlock's disapproving glare; that was one unladylike habit she had never quite grown out of.

"Perhaps," Mary amended, though the thought of marrying some London stranger made her slightly ill. She knew who she wanted to marry.

"The reason I ask," Mrs. Medlock continued, "is that until you marry, you are the lady of Misselthwaite Manor."

"Haven't I always been?" Mary asked, slightly confused. She had always been the only lady in the house.

"You have," Medlock agreed. "But Lord Craven always insisted that both you and your cousin be exempt from the responsibilities of running a household. However, now that Misselthwaite Manor is in the hands of young Mr. Craven and you, there are certain matters that must be discussed."

"What sort of matters?" Mary asked.

"As the lady of the house," Mrs. Medlock began, "you should have full knowledge of the manor's upkeep, menu, and servants, and make most of the decisions regarding these matters. I would of course be willing to assist you in these matters if you choose to remain at Misselthwaite, or handle them entirely if you return to London. But if you remain here, it is expected that a lady have at least nominal control of her household."

The speech sounded somewhat prepared; Mrs. Medlock paused at the end, as if expecting Mary to object.

"All right," Mary said easily. She knew, for the most part, how to run a house – she had learned more than dancing at Bradford's. Besides, it would be a good distraction, something to occupy her so that she did not spend all of her time in the secret garden, thinking of what might have been.

"Well!" Mrs. Medlock said, clearly flustered by Mary's obedience. "Shall we begin with the servants?"

They stayed in the parlor for several hours, until dinnertime. Mary was surprised to find that the household discussions were actually interesting – Medlock informed her of the names and skills of all the servants, many of which Mary did not know. She was pleased to hear 'Lizabeth Ellen awarded special praise – "best maid there's yet been at Misselthwaite and a bright girl too. If only it weren't for that dreadful accent!" – and decided to learn to match the names with the faces of the other six servants – "of course, if you or Mr. Craven decide to live at Misselthwaite, the staff would be increased."

All the same, Mary had never quite liked Mrs. Medlock – she was a very good housekeeper, but she had always seemed harsh and impersonal to Mary. It was also likely, Mary admitted to herself, that she held a grudge against the housekeeper for the rude way she had been treated when she first arrived at Misselthwaite some seven years ago. So as interesting as the household information was, Mary was glad to hear a timid knock at the door and see 'Lizabeth Ellen step into the parlor.

"Dinner's ready, Miss Lennox," 'Lizabeth Ellen said, curtseying. Mary stared – she had never seen 'Lizabeth Ellen curtsy. It must be for Mrs. Medlock's benefit. "Tha cousin won't be eating – he said he's feeling ill and has gone to bed."

Mary felt a flare of annoyance. He was avoiding her, the beast! Colin had never been good at admitting he was wrong, but this was a new level. He must still be jealous of Dickon, though he'd never admit it.

"Thank you, Elizabeth Ellen," Mary said, careful to pronounce the 'E' that was dropped in Yorkshire. "I shall dine in my room tonight, then."

"Yes, Miss Lennox," 'Lizabeth Ellen said, curtseyed, and backed out of the room.

Mary rose and nodded to Mrs. Medlock. "Thank you for instructing me," she said honestly.

"You're welcome," Mrs. Medlock said stiffly. "There is still much to go over. Shall we meet tomorrow after lunch?"

"Yes," Mary said. "But perhaps in the library?"

Mrs. Medlock acquiesced and the two left the parlor and went their separate ways – Mrs. Medlock to the kitchen, Mary to her rooms. As Mary passed the dining room, she felt another flare of anger. So Colin didn't want to see her, did he? Well, two could play that game – and she wouldn't miss him, either, not the way he was acting, not one bit.


	6. Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary

**A Good Year For the Roses**

**Chapter Six: Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary**

Colin was not at breakfast the next morning. 'Lizabeth Ellen informed Mary that he was still asleep, but Mary doubted it. She spent her morning writing to Cecelia and the other Bradford girls, discussing the wedding and informing them of her adventure afterward.

When Mary came downstairs for lunch, 'Lizabeth Ellen told her that Colin had taken a basket out to the gardens. Mary seethed: Colin was purposely avoiding her. What a perfect rajah! 'Lizabeth Ellen suggested that Mary join him, and Mary snapped at her. "I can make my own decisions, 'Lizabeth Ellen."

"Of course, Miss Lennox, it's not my place," 'Lizabeth Ellen responded politely but guardedly, and Mary felt a twinge of guilt. Not enough to apologize, though, especially after she heard 'Lizabeth Ellen humming "Mistress Mary Quite Contrary" as she cleaned the library windows.

Household matters proved to be quite interesting, and Mary readily absorbed herself in talk of the quality of Misselthwaite's furniture. Part of her wanted to spend the afternoon in the garden, but Colin was there, and she refused to be the one to apologize first.

But Colin wasn't at dinner, either. In fact, Mary didn't see Colin for the next three days. Colin slept later and later each day, and by the time Mary went to eat lunch he would be in the garden. He would creep back inside sometime between five and six o'clock and go back to his room, allegedly to sleep. He was holding a terrible grudge, and Mary was irritated to no end.

Then, at lunchtime on Mary's fourth day at Misselthwaite, 'Lizabeth Ellen told her that Colin was still asleep. "He says he's fine, miss," the maid said concernedly. "But he's been coughing somethin' terrible, an' he's getting awful pale. I think tha should send for a doctor – if I may so, that is," she tacked on, perhaps expecting another outburst.

She needn't have: Mary didn't even notice the barb. She felt terribly ashamed of herself: she had assumed that Colin was slighting her instead of being worried for him; she had taken out her impatience on 'Lizabeth Ellen; she hadn't even spoken to Dickon beyond the cold congratulations; and she hadn't spent more than ten minutes in the secret garden since she arrived.

"Yes, please do send for a doctor," Mary told 'Lizabeth Ellen. "Whoever's nearest and qualified – but not Dr. Craven."

'Lizabeth Ellen dropped a curtsy and a forgiving smile, then hurried away to send for the doctor. Mary left a note telling Mrs. Medlock that she would be otherwise occupied that day, and went out to the garden.

* * *

Mary could see Colin's handiwork in the garden. He was a perfectionist in gardening, as in everything else, and Mary could see where he had worked by the small flowerbeds completely devoid of weeds. She and Dickon tended to take a more mercurial approach to gardening, plucking and pruning at random, but Colin was painstakingly thorough.

The garden seemed empty without him. Although Mary had often spent time alone in the garden, - had relished the solitude, even - now the garden simply seemed lonely. Each rose was a reminder of what she had lost that spring, and the broken branch on the dead tree was a reminder of her recent selfishness. Colin had stared at the branch, been transfixed by it. For the first time, he had truly realized what it signified. And Mary had left him alone.

"Mistress Mary, quite contrary," she whispered harshly, half to herself, half to the garden. The garden was supposed to save her, to make her a better person – but all its Magic had left with Dickon after that kiss, and now it was empty and lonely. Mary wandered for a while, trying to regain some of the old feeling, but she soon gave up and headed back to the house.

"Th' doctor's in with Mist – I mean, Lord Craven now,"' Lizabeth Ellen told Mary as soon as she reentered the house.

"Already?" Mary asked, surprised.

"Aye," 'Lizabeth Ellen said gravely. "There's a proper doctor in th' village next to ours, an' he was in th' Thwaite seein' Mrs. Ferny, who's havin' twins soon. He came soon as we sent for him."

"That was very good of him," Mary said. "Do you know how long he'll be with Colin?"

'Lizabeth Ellen smiled slightly. "Eh, tha's impatient. But there's nowt tha can do now but wait, Miss Mary. Just wait."

Waiting turned out to be immensely difficult. Mary had always been prone to impatience, but this was the worst she had ever been. She tried to occupy herself first by writing letters, then by reading a novel, then by planning the improvements on the house; but nothing could hold her attention for long.

Then, when Mary heard soft footsteps in the hall and raced out to meet the doctor, he told her nothing.

"I'm afraid your cousin will have to tell you, Miss Lennox. I'm bound to hold all such things in confidence," he said, not unkindly. Mary nearly ran to Colin's room to ask him, but a maid – Margaret, Mary remembered her name was – told her that Colin was sleeping.

"An' Dr. Smith said that he needs his rest, Miss Lennox, an' shouldn't be woken," the maid said nervously.

Margaret seemed terrified that Mary might insist on seeing Colin, so there was nothing to do but wait. Mary desperately wanted to go out to the gardens – even if the secret garden had lost its magic, the pruning and weeding would at least give her something to do – but she wanted to talk to Colin the instant he awoke. She stayed in the house.

Colin didn't wake until near lunchtime the next day, by which time Mary was nearly out of her mind with worry and had taken to pacing restlessly around her room.

There was a knock at the door and Mary jumped. "Come in," she said anxiously.

It was 'Lizabeth Ellen. "Mist – Lord Craven's awake now, Miss Lennox. He's asking for thee."

Mary nodded and nearly ran down the corridors to Colin's room. She had not been there in years, since before they both left for their respective boarding schools, but she had not forgotten the way.

The door was ajar. Mary didn't bother to knock, but simply pushed it open and stepped in.

It was like stepping seven years into the past. The room was dark and smelled of medicine; the curtains were closed on the portrait of Lilias Lennox; and Colin was lying listlessly in bed.

His eyes were closed, and though the covers were drawn up to his chin, Mary could see that Colin's chest as rising and falling irregularly, as if he were struggling to breathe. His skin was unnaturally pale, and dark circles were under his eyes. He looked very ill, and very young.

"Colin?" Mary said softly.

Colin's eyes opened and he slowly pushed himself so that he was sitting against a mountain of pillows.

"Mary," he said, and his voice sounded weak and tired, "I have pneumonia."


	7. A Confession

**A Good Year For The Roses**

**Chapter Seven: A Confession**

* * *

**In case you need a reminder, here's the end of Chapter Six: **

_Colin's eyes opened and he slowly pushed himself up so that he was sitting against a mountain of pillows._

"_Mary," he said, and his voice sounded weak and tired, "I have pneumonia."_

* * *

"What?" Mary asked weakly. Her knees were trembling; she felt as if she might faint.

Colin opened his mouth to respond but was overcome by a violent coughing fit. It seemed to go on forever. Mary drew nearer to Colin until she was standing next to the bed. She wasn't sure what, if anything, she could do. Just as she was about to call for help, the fit ended with a last raspy cough. Colin straightened up, faced Mary, and repeated, "I have pneumonia."

"Oh," Mary said stupidly. She was completely dumbfounded: she had not seen this coming, had had no idea that Colin was ill. Only a week ago he had been dancing with her, tall and handsome and healthy. "Is it bad?" she asked.

Colin paused; he seemed to be considering something. "Sit down, Mary," he said finally. There was a chair next to the bed left from the doctor's visit; Mary sat.

"It's bad," Colin said. "And it's going to get worse. Mary…Mary, I might die."

Mary's heart seemed to stop. "No you won't," she said.

Colin smiled ironically. "Mary, I'm not talking myself into it this time. I've been diagnosed with a proper illness by a proper doctor. I actually am ill; feel my forehead."

Mary obediently touched the back of her hand to Colin's forehead. He was burning up.

"You're not going to die," she repeated blankly. "You can't."

She felt strangely empty; the full meaning of the situation had not fully sunk in. It seemed absurd that there would ever be a time when she did not have Colin, so she did not believe him.

"Actually, I can," Colin corrected gently, and lapsed into another coughing fit, this time even longer than the first. Mary offered him her handkerchief.

"Thanks," he said when he finished. He wiped his face, then sat up straight and turned to Mary, keeping the handkerchief gripped in his hand. His knuckles were white; he was frightened.

"Mary," Colin said after a moment, "I have to tell you something."

Mary paled; she did not like the sound of that. She half-considered asking Colin not to tell her whatever it was, but her desire to know everything that was going on overrode her trepidation.

"What is it?" she asked guardedly.

"I…I'm in love with you," Colin said.

Mary stared. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't that.

"No, don't say anything," Colin said as Mary opened her mouth to respond – with what, she didn't know, but she had to say _something._ "Hear me out."

Mary nodded and waited for Colin to continue.

"I've loved you since I met you, I think," Colin said quietly. "But I realized that I was in love with you after the funeral, when you found me in the library. It felt…disrespectful, almost, to Father, so I didn't do anything about it. I was going to tell you after the wedding, but, well, you know what happened. And then I found out about Dickon."

"I'm sorry," Mary said softly. "About the fight."

Colin smiled slightly. "I am too. It was stupid of both of us. Now, quiet."

He took a deep, shuddering breath and prepared to continue his monologue. It sounded somewhat rehearsed, but Colin was obviously very nervous and speaking honestly. Mary wasn't quiet sure what to do. The past ten minutes had delivered two of the biggest shocks of her life.

"You were right about me being jealous of Dickon. I am. But I admire him, too. He saved my life when we were children. If anyone deserves you, it's him. He's a fool to let you go."

Mary felt tears welling up in her eyes at the use of that phrase, "let go." Colin was being completely honest and kind and even romantic. In spite of the Bradford girls' hints and suggestions, Mary had never thought of Colin as more than a friend, almost a brother. But then she had never known this…it was as if she was looking at, listening to, a completely different Colin, one who was almost a stranger.

"Don't say anything," Colin said quietly. "I…I don't want to know what you think. Not yet. I just…I wanted you to know. Don't say anything about it yet. But stay with me, please."

"All right," Mary said. She sounded, even to herself, as if she were about to cry.

Colin coughed harshly, then lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes. The conversation was over, Mary knew, and yet he had asked her to stay. She picked up his hand tentatively and held it on top of the covers. He squeezed her hand…in thanks? in annoyance? as a reflex? she didn't know. She didn't know Colin anymore.

Still, being here, in this room, with Colin ill and in bed, felt like all those days they had spent together before she had shown Colin the garden. She felt some half-forgotten need to comfort him, to distract him from fears of a hunchback and an early death and an unloving father. What had she done before? She had described the secret garden, but Colin knew it better than she did now. She had neglected it, and him.

There was that little Hindustani song that her Ayah had always sung to her in India. She had sung it to him before, as children, and again last spring in the library. She had forgotten most of the words; she had never fully learned the language and the knowledge had only faded as she grew older. But she knew the tune by heart, and so she began to half-hum, half-sing the lullaby.

Colin grasped her hand tighter, but a small smile was appearing on his lips. Mary kept singing until Colin's hand relaxed and she was sure he was asleep. Then she stood, carefully removing her hand, and looked closely at Colin, trying to work out what she was feeling. She didn't know.

Mary leaned forward to brush a light kiss against Colin's cheek, then she tiptoed out of the room and leaned against the wall. She was frightened; she was more confused than she had ever been in her life. She needed the garden, but she wasn't sure if even that could help her.

* * *

The garden seemed sad and lonely as it never had before, even at the beginning. The broken branch seemed terribly ominous; the low swing seemed to be waiting for someone to fill it, someone who was not Mary. Still, when she looked at the garden piece by piece, she could see that it had not changed at all. She had.

Mary lay down on the ground and looked up at the clear blue sky. It seemed wrong that the sun could shine so brightly when her own life was in shambles. She didn't know anything anymore; she felt utterly and completely lost.

A tear slid down the slide of her face. Funny; she hadn't even realized she was crying. The thought seemed to break some sort of dam, and Mary began to cry so hard that she had to sit up and search for her handkerchief. She had given it to Colin, she realized after a moment; he had fallen asleep holding it in his other hand, the one Mary wasn't holding. The thought only made Mary cry harder. She was about to wipe her face with her skirt when a brown hand holding a clean white handkerchief appeared in front of her face.

"Here, take mine."

Mary looked up. It was Dickon.


	8. The Rosebush

**A Good Year For The Roses**

**Chapter Eight: The Rosebush**

--

_**End of Chapter Seven:**_

_Mary was about to wipe her face with her skirt when a brown hand holding a clean white handkerchief appeared in front of her face._

"_Here, take mine."_

_Mary looked up. It was Dickon._

--

Mary stared, confounded and embarrassed. Of all the people to see her like this!

"Take it," Dickon prompted, and Mary wordlessly obeyed. She wiped her face, blew her nose, and looked up. Dickon sat down next to her.

"Keep it," he said, smiling slightly.

"Thanks," Mary said thickly. Dickon looked at her in concern. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, thinking better of whatever he was going to say. He paused, then opened his mouth again and said, "Miss Mary, I think we need to talk."

"I'm sorry," Mary blurted. "I've been acting terribly. I'm happy for you, really I am. Or at least I'm trying to be."

Mary almost put her hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to say that last part aloud.

Dickon let out a small chuckle, then his face became deadly serious.

"Miss Mary, I love thee," he said simply, and Mary's heart raced. But Dickon wasn't done.

"When tha left, I was all tore up, even though I knew it was th' right thing to do. Rose saw, an' after church one day she asked me to walk her home. I didn't know her well, but we ended up talkin' an' she was a good listener. I saw more an' more of her, an' before I knew it, I was in love.

"I didn' do it to hurt thee, Miss Mary," he added urgently. "I'd never hurt thee o'purpose. But…well, I love Rose. I love thee too, Miss Mary, but now tha seems more like one o' my sisters, if it's not too bold to say."

"No, it's not, Dickon, I'd love to be your sister," Mary said, feeling tears well up. She was all confused again; she had loved Dickon so much, but something had changed, and surprisingly she wasn't heartbroken – or, at least not as heartbroken as she'd expected to be. She didn't know what she felt anymore.

Mary wiped her eyes and looked back at Dickon. "Colin has pneumonia," she said. It sounded so strange to hear herself say it. "The doctor says he might die." Her voice trembled and broke; tears began to leak from her eyes.

Dickon paled. "Eh! Not Master Colin?" he said, startled. "I thought all th' sickliness was gone!"

"So did I," Mary said. "So did Colin. I don't know what to do."

Dickon reached forward, hesitated, and then took her hand. "Miss Mary, tha's got to stay with him an' care for him th' best tha can. Tha's th' only one he's got left. I'll ask Mother if she knows anythin' about pneumonia, an' I'll ask around th' Thwaite. We won't let him die, Miss Mary."

Dickon's calm assurance gave Mary some hope, and she impulsively threw her arms around him.

"Thank you, Dickon," she whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Dickon held her awkwardly for a moment, then let go. Mary felt somewhat ashamed; she knew how uncomfortable he felt doing anything that might be perceived as improper.

"I'd best get back to the house," Mary said, standing up. "I'm going to talk to Mrs. Medlock and see what we can do. " She ran out of the garden and along the path to Misselthwaite Manor. Colin was not going to die.

--

The doctor was right. Colin did get worse, much worse. He spent most of his time asleep, and when awake he rarely spoke. Mary said nothing about his confession, but did all she could to make him comfortable. She called Dr. Smith back from the village and paid him to stay at Misselthwaite; she personally planned Colin's light meals, though he rarely ate; she spent all her time in his room, leaving only when the doctor made her.

Mrs. Sowerby didn't know anything about pneumonia that Dr. Smith didn't know, but she brought a pot of her homemade soup to Misselthwaite Manor and came to visit Colin with Dickon and Martha. It was the first time Mary and Colin had seen Martha and Mrs. Sowerby since the cousins had left for their respective boarding schools, but Colin was very weak and barely clinging to consciousness and he could only manage a sort of half-smile of thanks.

"Tha's grown up to be quite th' lady," Martha told Mary as Mary was seeing them out. "An' if anyone can save tha cousin, it's thee."

"We'll pray for him, and for thee too," Mrs. Sowerby said softly. "Be it God's will that he pull through."

"Thanks," Mary said, tears welling up, and Mrs. Sowerby enveloped her in a hug that felt more like a mother's than anything Mary could remember.

Colin did not improve, but there came a point where he stopped getting worse. He lingered in that condition for nearly a week, and on the seventh day the doctor ordered Mary out of the room.

"There's nothing you can do now,' he said, somewhat irritably. "Either he gets better or he doesn't. I'll call for you when he takes a turn. Got to the village or something, get a breath of fresh air. It'll do you good." He pressed his hand to his forehead, sighed, and said in a kinder voice, "You've been very helpful. But at his point there's nothing anyone can do. We watch and wait and pray."

Mary nodded, fighting back tears, and left the room. She wanted so badly to see her Uncle Archie, to ask him what she could do, or simply to cry in his arms. She missed him terribly; without him this was ten times harder. She needed to know what he would do if he were here.

Without thinking much about it, Mary walked down to the stables and asked one of the men there to drive her to the town cemetery. It was not far, but she felt that if she walked, she would lose her nerve and turn back.

She left the driver at the carriage and set out purposely for the gravesite. It was a distance apart from the other graves, among the headstones of many Cravens and other country lords. As she drew nearer, she could see a figure kneeling in front of a grave; an old, bent man in scruffy clothes.

As she came even nearer she realized that it was Uncle Archie's grave; she resisted the urge to shout out and scare the man away and instead continued quietly until she was only a few feet from the grave. The man had not yet noticed her, so intent was he on his business. He was not praying, as Mary had first thought, but pruning the rosebushes: the full-grown one on Lilias Lennox Craven's grave, and the smaller one on Uncle Archie's.

The man finished is work, stood up, and brushed off his pants. It was not until he turned that Mary recognized him: it was Ben Weatherstaff.

He stared blankly at her, anger slowly etching lines on his face. "Eh!" he shouted finally. "What're you doin', spyin' on an old bachelder! Mind tha own business, an' keep tha nose out of places where it don't belong!"

A slow smile was forming on Mary's face as Ben ranted. He hadn't changed at all.

"Ben, don't you recognize me?" she asked once he had finished. "It's me, Mary Lennox!"

Ben's mouth dropped open; he looked quite comical, and Mary almost laughed.

"Eh!" he said finally. "Tha's grown into a right pretty young thing. Nowt like th' mean yeller wench tha used to be."

Mary did laugh at that. "You haven't changed at all," she proclaimed, and threw her arms around the old man. He stood frozen for a moment, then put his arms around her and patted her awkwardly. Mary wondered sadly how many times Ben had been hugged before.

"What are you doing here?" Mary asked once they had parted. "I thought you were retired."

"I am," Ben said, looking at his feet. "But I promised her I'd take care o' her roses. Promised, I did, an' I don't break my promises. I trust Dickon to look after th' roses in her garden, but here…" he looked at the rosebush. "She asked me to, an' I will," Ben finished.

Mary stared at the rosebush. Certain things were beginning to make sense.

"Ben," she said, "did you love my Aunt Lilias?"

Ben stared at his feet, a blush staining his weathered, wrinkled cheeks. Mary wasn't sure if she should have asked such a bold question, but she wanted – needed – to know.

"I don't know 'bout love," Ben said finally. "I looked after Mrs. Craven's gardens, an' I was a special friend to her. She was beautiful an' kind, an' I s'pose I did love her. But I never wanted her. I liked Mr. Craven – 'e was a good man – an' she was happy with him. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way."

"Thank you," Mary said slowly. She could tell he was telling the truth. Maybe she didn't understand as much as she thought she had.

Ben said nothing, simply kicked the pile of pruned branches next to the grave. "I heard tha cousin's mighty ill," he said finally, looking up. "I certainly 'ope 'e gets better."

"Thanks, Ben," Mary said. A sense of urgency was filling her; she had been away from Misselthwaite for far too long.

"I need to go back," she said, already turning away. "I need to see Colin."

She took off at a spring and once she reached the carriage told the man to drive back as quickly as possible.

Misselthwaite Manor was in chaos when Mary returned. Servants were running to and fro, carrying buckets of water, blankets, and towels. Mary nearly ran into 'Lizabeth Ellen near the parlor.

"Thank heaven tha's here!" 'Lizabeth Ellen gasped. "Mr. Craven's taken a turn for th' worse. Tha best go see him."


	9. Back in the Garden

**A Good Year For The Roses**

**Chapter Nine: Back in the Garden**

Mary ran to Colin's room, pushing past several servants and Mrs. Medlock. She didn't stop to knock at Colin's door but simply pushed it open and raced in. There she stopped, shocked: Colin lay still on the bed, his skin pale and his eyes closed.

Mary turned to Dr. Smith, too scared to ask. He shook his head, seeming to know what she was thinking. "He lives," he said grimly. "Though not for long, if we can't help him. Come help me sit him up: we need to get some fluids into him."

It was a long, arduous day and night, and more than once Mary was sure her heart had stopped as she looked at Colin and feared the worst. He always seemed to pull through, however, and as the hours past his color began to return and his breathing became more regular. Finally he sunk into a deep, silent sleep and Dr. Smith instructed Mary to lay him back down on the bed.

He bent over Colin and touched his face and his chest with his hands and then with several medical instruments. Finally he straightened and turned to Mary with a small smile on his face.

"The worst is over," he said. "He will live."

Mary's knees buckled and she crumpled to the floor, crying in relief. "Thank you," she whispered, to God or the doctor she didn't know. "Thank you. Thank you."

Dr. Smith patted her on the shoulder and a few seconds later she heard the soft thud of the door shutting behind him.

Mary remained on the floor for a few minutes, shaking with joy and relief. The worst was over. Colin would live. She had never heard such beautiful words in her life.

Suddenly, everything fell into place. The garden, the fight, the rosebush, the wedding, Dickon, Colin, Ben Weatherstaff, even Rose Connelly. Mary stood up and went to the bed. Colin was sleeping peacefully; his eyelashes seemed especially long and dark against his pale face. He would live.

"I love you," Mary whispered, and the words sounded right, felt right. "I love you," she repeated, and kissed Colin's forehead.

He didn't stir. No matter; there would be other kisses and other murmured words. Colin would live. Forever and ever and ever, as he had said as a child. Mary laughed out loud as another puzzle piece fell into place.

She had found the one she would be with forever and ever and ever, as 'Lizabeth Ellen had told her she would. He had been with her all this time, and she had never noticed. But it didn't matter; they had forever now. Forever and ever and ever.

--

Although the worst was over, Colin wasn't anywhere near to a complete recovery, and it was several days before he even completely regained consciousness and lucidity. Even then he was weak and could hardly speak, and while Mary talked to him and comforted him as much as she could, she did not tell him what she had realized. This sickroom was not the place to tell him, she decided. She would tell him in the secret garden.

It was several weeks before Colin was well enough to go outside; the pneumonia was cured quickly enough, but he was still weak and prone to illness, and Dr. Smith was adamant that Colin not risk his newly regained health.

"It's just like being ten again, and I don't like it," Colin said to Mary once the doctor had left. "Tell me about the garden."

They spoke of many things in those weeks of recovery, the garden not the least of them, but as much as she wanted to, Mary did not tell Colin her secret. It had to be in the garden – once she had decided that it felt too right for her to change her mind, tempting as it was.

And so they spoke of the garden, and their plans for Misselthwaite, and Dickon's coming wedding – this last skirted the topic, as Mary had to assure Colin that she was no longer in love with Dickon, but she couldn't explain why. Dickon himself visited them and invited them both to his wedding. He stayed and talked for some time, and although it wasn't quite like it had been when they were children, it was still good. Dickon was beginning to act less like a servant; Mary thought that was largely due to Colin's rajah-like scowl whenever he was addressed as "Lord Craven."

Finally, after fifteen long days, Dr. Smith returned to Misselthwaite and pronounced Colin well enough to walk around out of doors.

"Not too strenuously, mind you," he warned, "and not for more than an hour. You're not completely out of the woods yet."

Colin paid little heed to the doctor's warning: no sooner had Dr. Smith left the room than Colin turned to Mary with shining eyes and said, "Let's go to the garden!"

They nearly ran out of the house, and by the time they reached the garden door, Colin's cheeks were stained red and he was slightly out of breath. He paused, then with an excited look at Mary, he pushed open the door and they stepped inside.

It was like stepping into Heaven.

The roses were in full bloom – how could Mary ever have resented them? – and the grass was a green usually found only in pictures of gardens. The sun was bright and warm, and the sky was a clear blue, and the chirps of robins filled the air. For a few minutes Mary could only look around in wonder at the idyllic paradise, then once she had looked enough, she turned to Colin and took his hand. He looked at her, curious.

Mary took a deep breath and tried not to smile. She was happy, happier than she had ever been, here in the garden with Colin. Still, her heart was beating double-time in anticipation of what she was about to say.

"Colin," she said. "I have something to tell you."

He stared at her, some strange emotion appearing in his huge grey eyes...hope, maybe? Disbelief? He already knew what she was going to say, but she said it anyway.

"I'm in love with you."

Colin's face slid into a smile; joy sparkled in his eyes. Wordlessly, he lifted Mary and spun her around, then set her down and kissed her with a kiss that promised forever.

Breathless, they separated. Mary looked at him, his familiar face flushed in excitement and joy. She smiled. And kissed him again.

--

**The End.**

_As this is the end, I want to thank everybody who's read both this story and its prequel, "Forever and Ever and Ever." Thanks for sticking with me to the end! And, as always, please review and tell me what you thought! _


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